Break
by lewdness
Summary: Distantly, he toys with the idea of what he’s going to do to the swordsman when he wakes up. It's when, not if, when. Gokudera/Yamamoto
1. Chapter 1

Written just for the hell of it.

* * *

Furious doesn't begin to describe Gokudera's mood as he watches Yamamoto sleep, dark hair, dark circles under his eyes, and whitewhitewhite bandages around his arms, his stomach, and his head. He's fucking livid, and it took the Tenth's calm, soft pleas with the doctors to let him in, and it was the threat of Gokudera losing his temper that kept him there, unbothered by the nurses who flitted in on their prim white shoes, and then flicked back out, closing the door behind them.

Distantly, he toys with the idea of what he's going to do to the swordsman when he wakes up. Multiple things float through his mind in the three days he spends in the hospital. One part of him wants to kill him _(that bullet was meant for me you selfish bastard, not you)_, another part wants to hit him (_stupid selfless idiot, what were you thinking_), and the rest of him just wants to blow the rest of the world up so it never fucking happens again (_Tenth would be fucking inconsolable if you died, so don't you dare)._

When Yamamoto does wake up, however, Gokudera just presses the call button, and lets the professionals do their job, while Yamamoto gives them all a sleepy, strained smile, clearly still so drugged up that he probably won't remember a godsdamned thing.

* * *

Gokudera stays with him that night, only, instead of the hospital bed, Yamamoto's flat on his back in Gokudera's, since the man had a huge bed, far softer than the not-so-picky baseball player's. He hadn't minded, not when it gives him an excuse to watch over the idiot. They're left alone after the Tenth hugs Yamamoto as gingerly as he can, and then Gokudera as well, sliding out of the room and closing the door with a soft click.

"I should kill you," Gokudera growls, climbing up onto the bed, not surprised when Yamamoto just smiles at him, dragging him closer with a slight tug to his hands. He ends up straddling Yamamoto's waist, braced above him, lips just a hair away. "Tenth was a fucking _mess_ because of you."

Yamamoto exhales quietly, and attempts a smile. "But you're both both okay," he says, and resists the urge to point out that Gokudera's eyes look rather pretty painted in the soft light of the moon, and his own anger. He really doesn't have a death-wish, no matter what people think. So instead of all that, he just sighs a little, and says, "M'kinda sore."

Gokudera lets out a noise, a cross between a groan and a growl, and shoves their lips together, sloppy and messy and rough, lacking any inch of finesse. Yamamoto doesn't mind exactly, and, exactly means not really, not at all, because kissing Gokudera is like walking through a mine-field, all exhilaration and fear and _this is really awesome if it doesn't kill me.  
_  
"Fucker," Gokudera rasps into the kiss, somewhere around the time the two of them start grinding their hips together like they're a couple of fucking teenagers, those sloppy kisses continuing. "You fucker."

Yamamoto says nothing, just spreads his legs a little and hums when Gokudera shoves a hand down his pants and jerks him off, dry and rough and a little too much friction but so good and--

--and Gokudera somehow manages to get naked through all that, then works on getting Yamamoto naked for good measure. "Don't you ever," Gokudera snarls, and his eyelashes flutter as Yamamoto listens and takes two fingers into his mouth, sucking and nipping lightly, distracting him. "_Don't you ever--_!" He stops again, jerking his fingers out, rings slick and still cool, and shoves a finger into Yamamoto, then two, then three, and it fucking _aches_, not so much in a good way anymore, because he's sore and stiff and exhausted, but it's Gokudera and the promise of sex with Gokudera is always good and okay.

One hand fixes itself to Yamamoto's throat, squeezes, bears down and stops that strangled little cry that would have escaped had his hand not been there when he'd thrust in. "Don't you ever make him cry, again," Gokudera snarls, and fucks him like it's punishment and redemption all in one, a hand clenched tight at his throat, the other hand fisting Yamamoto with a lotion-slick palm and _that_ really doesn't seem fair at all.

Gokudera comes first, hips jerking and breath hitching and stuttering with a desperate _a-ah, ah, ahfuckYamamoto--! _and then he's sliding out and down and grazing teeth over his balls, lapping up his own come like it doesn't fucking matter that his mouth doesn't go down there. Yamamoto just whines, jerks when two big hands slide up his thighs, cold rings offsetting how _ohohoh-!_ hot Gokudera's mouth is, tongue flicking and tasting and touching in all the right places. Yamamoto comes with a sigh, and slumps against the covers with a shiver, eyes just slits now while Gokudera sits up and then drags the covers over them, exhausted and sore. "I won't," Yamamoto promises, and Gokudera just nods, promising that he'll hold him to it.

* * *

Omnomnom Gokudera/Yamamoto.


	2. Chapter 2

Second part. More or less just random schmoop that doesn't go anywhere else. Ta-da.

* * *

The door clicked closed quietly, Yamamoto flicking the lock to the left to lock it once more, glancing back to the couch and exhaling softly, an amused little half-laugh. Keys sliding into his pocket, he went about his nightly routine, heading for the kitchen and putting the kettle of water on low, cracking open the fridge and skimming through it to see if there was anything mildly appetizing, deciding on something quick and easy (Monday nights were normally left-over sushi from the night before; Gokudera refused to eat sushi the day after, so it fell to Yamamoto to finish it off).

It took only a few minutes for him to loosen his tie and pop the remainder of the sushi onto the plate, carrying it over to the couch where Gokudera was stretched out on his side, one arm hanging off the couch, his glasses hanging loosely from his fingertips, ready to fall to the ground at any moment.

Yamamoto sat down, legs stretched out in front of him, sitting on the ground instead of on the couch, and leaning back, gently taking the man's glasses and setting them on the coffee table, grabbing the remote when he was finished and clicking the TV onto the latest news, while he popped a piece of salmon sushi into his mouth. Halfway through the news, the familiar buzzing of Gokudera's cellphone went off, and the Vongola member muttered and groped into his pocket, silencing it and exhaling slowly. "Morning," Yamamoto said, not looking back, just smiling a little bit as Gokudera made a noise in return, shifting on the couch and then yawning. "Tea's almost done."

Another noise, and Yamamoto set the plate and chopsticks aside, just tilting his head from side to side to crack it, lips quirking up when he felt Gokudera shift, using a hand over Yamamoto's for support as he leaned over to press his lips, warm and soft over the curve of Yamamoto's throat. One more kiss, just behind his ear, and Yamamoto turned his head to get an on-the-lips kiss before the sleepy-content haze left Gokudera. In the background, the tea pot whistled shrilly. "Tea's done."

The man nipped his lip lightly, then rolled back onto his back on the couch, an arm thrown over his eyes while Yamamoto got up to prepare the tea, careful as ever, bringing back two steaming cups. "Tsuna says hello," Yamamoto murmured, handing over a cup and leaning back between Gokudera's legs as the man sat up to drink it, elbows resting on Yamamoto's shoulders.

"He called," Gokudera replied, voice scratchy and rough with sleep, chin on top of the messy mass of dark hair, nuzzling into it with a sigh. "Finish your tea..." Another yawn and then a pinch for good measure, as Gokudera nudged Yamamoto back and carried his empty cup to the sink, then walked to the bedroom, stretching and popping his back into place.

Yamamoto didn't move a moment, just grabbing Gokudera's glasses from the table, not surprised when the silver-haired man came wandering back out sans a shirt, snatching his glasses from the other man's hand. "Tch," Gokudera muttered, and this time Yamamoto followed him back.


End file.
